Ephemera

Actually, my blog is basically always ephemera if you go for the strict definition.

Anyone using the word ephemera in their blog for the next week will be subjected to my derision.

I told someone I would post this chapter for their consideration but it was some time ago, so it is probably useless at this time.  Feel free to skip it since you are already in the counter*.  It is the first chapter of Lawman, and I had to check if Select allowed it and they do.  Frankly, I like the last chapter better.  And I am tired of people saying my characters are promiscuous when they sleep with maybe two or three different people in their fictional life frames. And always for the best  and most non-casual reasons.

LAWMAN

by Virginia Llorca

Kindle Press Edition

9/1/2011

Chapter One

“Called on the carpet.  Monday morning.  Ruin the whole week for me why don’cha?  Probably getting the axe.  Hope it’s budget and I didn’t goof up.  Stop, Lily.  No point in wild conjecture.  Not wild.  Gotta be the axe.”  She tried to talk herself out of the worst case scenarios as she walked toward the States Attorney’s  office.

“Shoulda found my own job.  Stop it, Lily.  Not the end of the world.  You already survived that.  Chin up.  Paste on the smile.   Hi, Kelly!”  as she walked in.

“Hey, Lily!  How are ya doing?”

“Do I look as scared as I feel?”

“Wait til you see the crowd waiting on you!  Seriously, don’t worry.  It’s all good, hon.”

“Just have to tough my way through it.”

“And we all know that’s your strong point.  You’ll be fine, hon.   Lily’s here, sir,” she said to the intercom.

Lily had never seen so many people in Don’s office.  “Fire code violation,” she thought.  “Terminate me, I’ll retaliate!”. . .trying to buoy herself up.

“Lily, darlin’!  You brighten my day!”

“Whoa,” she thought, “aren’t we cooling the family stuff at work anymore?”

“Let me introduce you around, darling.  Lily, this is Max Davidson.  Midwest Regional Director for the FBI.  Mr. Davidson, Mrs. Scofeldt.”

“How do you do, Mr. Davidson.  I’m honored to meet you.”    (“Crap.  What did I do?  Regional Director?  Crap. . .”)  Two more FBI associates.  Someone from the governor’s office, the mayor’s office, and two ADA’s she already knew.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about, darling.”

(“Please stop calling me darling in front of the brass, Don!” she was screaming in her brain.)

“I can only imagine I’m being terminated.  And I’m hoping it’s budget related and not because of some horrible error I am blissfully unaware of.  But all the brass. . .   I mean. . . . Well. . . ”

“No, honey.  We have no intention of terminating your service.  We’re very pleased with your performance.  Especially liaising this difficult case.  Actually, Celeste was saying the boys are both going to be full day at school now, and we were thinking of asking you if you could come in the other two days.  Of course, we’ll still make sure you get home in time for the bus.”

“Oh, that would be so great, Don, er. . .  I mean, Mr. Solomon.  I was gonna ask about it.  Yeah.  Thanks.   I would like that.”

“Ahem. . .” coughed Mr. Davidson.

“Yes.  We’re getting sidetracked.   Down to the business at hand, Lily.  I’m afraid the subject we have to discuss may strike you as a bit more awkward  than being terminated.  You know how difficult it is to keep our personal lives out of the office, especially in this town.  And you know how serious this case is.  We just need to establish a few facts because we’re planning to hand down the indictment Wednesday a.m.”

“Yes, sir.  And I’m really glad we’ve finally reached that point.”

“We all are.  It’s been difficult.  Hon, there has been a kind of persistent undercurrent of gossip lately, and normally, giving it credence would only exacerbate the issues. But because of what’s at stake. . .” he paused to let Mr. Davidson jump in. 

“This is of a personal nature, and you are, of course, free to choose not to answer. We have to tell you though, that choice may affect our decisions.  We feel we must ask you at this time, Mrs. Scofeldt, if you did have or if you are having a personal relationship with Special Agent Raia.”

Lily was rocked back on her heels, but, of course, only figuratively, although it was apparent to everyone that she began to blush furiously and took a slightly deeper breath than usual.  Being taken completely unaware, and naturally tending toward being a bit outspoken, she blurted, unthinking, “Not yet!”  The sound of several chuckles being muffled was all that was heard for a few seconds too long.  “I mean, it seems. . .  I mean, I’ve heard. . .  I take this job very seriously, and I’m sure Special Agent Raia does also.  And, well, no.  I mean, I’ve never even had a personal conversation with him.  Well, wait, once he called me into his office for a conversation about an error, but I understand those instances have to be documented.”

The director spoke up to Don, chuckling, “That would be the now famous ‘tiny, arrogant, expletive deleted, small-town prom queen with attitude’ document?”

“I do believe that is the incident she is referring to,” Don laughed.   “And I believe since he insisted that be in her file, we will have to give her an opportunity to respond.”

“Perhaps in writing would be the best venue, although, if she insists, we could have a hearing,” the Director went on, with more than a hint of unprofessional sarcasm in his voice.

“I am confident enough in my standing on the issues he brought up that I don’t think it’s necessary for me to respond in any way.  And, since this isn’t vaudeville, I think we can stop the ‘schtick’ at my expense for now.”  Lily’s self assuredness quickly overcame the feeling that all this brass might be a little intimidating.

“Sorry, ADA Scofeldt,” said the Director, with an actual humble note in his tone.  “Sometimes we can act a little unprofessionally as we wind down these difficult cases. We’re probably all just a little too comfortable with one another after so long.”

“Okay, hon.  We can see clearly where you stand on this matter,” said Don.  “And we do seriously appreciate your candor.  We’ve already interviewed SA Raia, and we’re satisfied that we can go ahead with our plans.  SA Raia’s plans. . .  Well, probably not appropriate to comment on that in this venue.”  He rose from his desk and stood at Lily’s side as she shook everyone’s hand and walked to the door.  He put his arm around her shoulder so all would see she had his complete support, and he walked her past reception into the hall.  He figured they already knew he was her godfather and uncle, anyway.  And didn’t really care what they thought at this stage of his life. “Baby.  I’m so sorry to have put you through this, but you handled it beautifully.”

“Foot in mouth.”

“Nothing they weren’t already too aware of, babe.  And, honey, I don’t want to scare you, but this Tim, this Agent Raia?   I sat in on the interview, and he’s as straight arrow as they come. But we had to ask him some very direct questions, and Lily, as far as you are concerned, this is a bull in a pen, pawing at the ground.”

“Don.  Yikes.  I mean, Celeste already gave me the big sister talk and I can’t help but be aware of the tension in the room when he’s around.  But, yikes.  I mean.  I’m not disinterested, but you’re scaring me a little.”

“You’re ready for a little fun, babe.  Ben’s been gone two years now.  You know you’re ready to move on.  Just don’t make any hasty decisions.  Gotta get back.  Love you, darlin’.  You’ll be fine.”  And he didn’t care who saw him give her that affectionate smooch.  There were certain advantages in being the big gun in a small town.

***

“Well, the guy is a fox,” she was thinking.  "Tim?"  All she had ever heard was SA Raia.  “Timmy?  Cute.  Well, I’d give him a second glance for sure.  Guess I already have.  But, heck,  his job is over in this town on Wednesday.  And that starts my two weeks off.  Bobby starting first grade.  Really a way bigger deal than Agent Raia’s potential.  But, yeow.  Everyone can feel what’s going on when he’s in the same room I am.  Might be fun.  Well, we’ll see.  The ball is in his court.  Anyway, who knows where he even lives.  I’m not even gonna ask Celeste.  Any information goes out as quick as it comes in with her.  Last thing he needs to hear is me making inquiries.”

***

But Celeste was calling before Lily even got half way home.  “I heard you were interrogated by the big brass.”

“Not exactly interrogated, Celeste.  Everything is cool.”

“No.  It’s not cool, babe.  This is anything but cool.  How many months did you work together?  Four?  Five?  That’s a lot of foreplay.”

“Don’t be gross, Cece.”

“The weird thing is he’s actually asked a couple of people if you’ve said anything about him.  I don’t know if that’s adolescent or stalkerish.  Kinda creepy.”

“The last thing I read off this vibe is creepy.”

“What’s the first?”

“C’mon, Cece.  Give me a break here.  I’m practically a novice at this.”

“And he’s been divorced eight years!  Fireworks, Lily!  Even the Director made a remark about it.  Something about fireproof sheets when the two of you get together.  And he talks to Raia all the time.  Wow, love to be the fly on that wall.”

“That would border on sexual harassment if I heard it, I think.”

“Well, it would have to be Agent Raia to bring charges and who knows who started that conversation.  I just get the trickle down from Don. You know guys are utterly gross about that stuff.  But Don did emphasize the fact that the word was when you get together, not if. ”

 “Like I’m not going to have anything to say about it?  Too bad they don’t have something a little more professional to discuss. Anyway he’ll probably be on a plane Wednesday night.”

“No, baby.  Lots of people are laying money on this one.”

“Nice.  Small town mentality.  Nothing else to talk about.”

“You’re our star, honey.  You’re everyone’s darling.   But I kind of get the feeling your goose is cooked.”

“Speaking of cooking, gotta fix dinner, sweetie.  Let it rest.  Love you.”

***

The indictment went down without a hitch on Wednesday.  Senior Special Agent Raia and the Director, along with State’s Attorney Solomon, handled the press conference.  Lily was so far down on the totem pole she didn’t even have to hang around for that.  Of course her absence was noted.  “I wanted to give a special thank you to our newest ADA, Lily Scofeldt for the great job she did for us, but apparently she has already left.”

Someone spoke out, “We’re sure you’re going to be able to deliver that thank you personally, Tim.”

“I hope the mikes are off.  You guys really need to get a life.”

“Right now it’s your life we’re talking about, Raia.  And Lily’s. Don’t forget this entire town thinks she’s under its protection,” said Don, trying to sound a bit protective and fatherly, despite the huge smile on his face.

And Lily was driving home thinking Agent Raia might have at least made an effort to say good bye to her after all the hype.  But mostly she was thinking about Friday being the first day of school for Bobby.  Only a half day, but so exciting for him to go on the big kid’s bus.  Still, she admitted she felt a little let down.  And it turned out the whole weekend seemed kind of long.  Maybe being away from work for two whole weeks with the kids gone all day wasn’t such a good idea.  And weather unseasonably warm for this late in the summer was promised. Of course there were plenty of projects around the house that needed attention, especially the yard which was showing signs of neglect and needed an end of summer clean up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

End of chapter one.

*Speaking of counters--my blog site shows counters with three differing opinions.  They must be opinions since they so widely vary.  Well, maybe not widely.  It just goes to show me I shouldn't be concerned with them, right?

Blogs and stuff

I just spent two solid hours reposting stuff between Pinterest and Tumblr.  Make it worth my while.

I think this is like those people who are so into scrapbooking. My tumblr blog is Red Musings and I reposted from another blog that specifies you can only post if you are a redhead or an artist who paints or photographs them


.And, as usual, I fully own the fact that it is distracting me from the WIPs.

 
My real life. . .

33 ways to stay creative

Good nudges:

(From Stumble Upon)

33 Ways to Stay Creative

Except. what if you aren't so creative in the first place?

Stealing

There was another big plagiarism brouhaha recently but it was all blog wise, so maybe some of you, the uninitiated, missed out on it. It was very blatant and the person tried to apologize in a bunch of euphemistic terms in such a way that she was not accepting blame.  Finally, weeks later I think it was, she threw in the towel and said, "Yeah.  I'm a thief."

I went through this when one of my grandaughters was in high school and she had to do a biographical poster for math class.  You didn't ask me, but it seems obvious we are in trouble here from the get go.  What kid that  can read doesn't do cut and paste for this type of project?  Well the teacher's biggest complaint was she did not source one of the photos which was scanned from a book.  I went to every body that had anything to do with it with the most amazing letter that I came across recently and still wonder at.  Its verbosity, its cunning use of language, its explicitness.  It left no room for argument, and it made such a huge impression on me that I never bothered to find out if he decided to cut Cas a little slack on the grade.  Similar incident when Fran was in high school, but different.  She got twenty percent for the research, twenty percent for the outline, twenty percent for the index cards, twenty percent for the rough draft and twenty percent for the final doc.  (Is that 100 yet?)  So she never handed in the final doc so the teacher gave her a zero.  It was agreed that the system of grading was indeed flawed but it was also agreed that Fran did indeed earn eighty percent of the grade.  That one I know was changed.  Didn't matter in the long run as is true of most of the causes around which I choose to rally.  She got a scholarship to Loyola based on her GED scores.

Anyway. . .

The thing is, and this is at least the third time this has happened,  I drop the husk on the floor when I leave which is all that is left of the seed of the idea that blossomed into some marvelous piece of editorial genius, and someone finds it and runs with it.  Only they don't even run in the right direction.  It isn't just stealing, well, let's be kind and let them call it inspiration, it is rubbing my nose in it.  Cuz I can say it better and it was my seed so get the hell off the farm. It's like that meme on Pinterest where they show you how to make the inside out cupcakes and then you post your photo of the outcome which is a hilarious mess and the caption reads, "Nailed it."  I swear, if I had any way of knowing if that person derived any satisfaction from finishing their pointless paragraphs, I would be even more pissed off.  Every time I see a movie or read a book and say, "Oh, I used that in my book"(months before) I want to weep except I am so far past being emotionally involved in this little hobby/career foible I call my writing.  And there is a screen play and some dick actress doing a shitty job of saying what my Jenny said or my Deanie said.  And they are sitting in the basement counting their nickles.  Oh irony of ironies.  

Well, I guess it is time for me to fall back on "I had my day in the sun" and just remove myself from the issues.  But no.  I am too nosy, too curious, too conceited to let it drop.  I shall drag it kicking and screaming with me to the grave.  Except, I forgot, I'm not going to do the grave thing.

Homage

Everybody hopes they will be remembered when they are gone.  My younger brother was nine when my maternal grandma died and he says he has no recollection of her at all.  That makes me especially sad because I remember  her sitting in the rocker when he was a baby and rocking him and humming to him for hours on end.  I am positive she sang the words when we weren't around, cuz that's the way I roll on that one, but it is an image I keep in my mind.  Unfortunately there are some not so pleasant, but I am good at ignoring that.  Actually, even when my mom and dad were out and she was in charge and she forced us to kneel at the dining room chairs and pray aloud is not an unpleasant memory, and it always makes me think how important it was to her to try and save our souls.  Her faith is what led her to have such a peaceful attitude toward her dying, a fact she lived with for awhile.

But I digress, excessively.

Do you do Pinterest?  Do you even know what it is?  I love it.  It is a huge time suck but so much fun.  Not in the sense of "Ha Ha ha", although there is occasionally that.  But as an  excuse to keep you from writing or editing or vacuuming.  Many a moon ago, I came across an entry that I repinned, also many a moon ago.

Well, not too easy to read but that is extra large.  Original runs way off the page edge.

Anyway, that was Mitch Hedburg.  I really liked him.  He was so George Carlinesque in his take on reality but picked on the strange  little things, like the waffle.  I don't think George Carlin did waffles..
Fran came home from a class one day to tell me her speech teacher mentioned Mitch Hedburg.  She was sure I was the only person in the world that ever heard of him. So today someone reposted this on Pinterest.  My caption was "Gone too soon."  He died in his early fifties from some drug related thing which is not a big deal, Heath Ledger, me, etc., but so brilliant to be snuffed out so soon.  So I linked to the poster's board and she had some more of his stuff.  I thought it was great that a person can live on like that.  No body special but left a nice legacy.  I am glad to remember him.

Brilliance

You know, don't you now, that someone somewhere can write a blog and the numbers come in showing that the marketing, if not the actual content of said blog was brilliant beyond comprehension, evidenced by the through the roof spike in stats.  And yet, no one was moved, even by the CTA, to comment in any way, even to say, "Wow, was I disappointed after all that build up".  Or, "This was the most amazing thing I have read in ages, but the punctuation could use a little sprucing up."  Whatever.   Say "Kilroy was here" or something for God's sake.  If the post embarrassed you so that you go  slinking away before anyone notices you, too bad.  You already left a footprint.  So speak the fuck up.  What is wrong with you people?

Modern Medicine

My daughter being a degreed Nurse, I, by default, don't give much thought to medical problems.  I just ask her and she usually has the answer at hand or sends me a link.

The vaccine question is probably equal parts politics and pragmatism, and every one seems to have an opinion on the subject.  Being ancient, I know many people that blame their own children's problems on vaccines.  They have told me their doctors back them up.  In my personal experience I have had conversations in which three parents with highly messed up, (impaired to the tenth power)  offspring whose docs have said "This is clearly due to the vaccine."   I lie somewhere in the middle. I am scared of them, but usually buckle when presented with facts, like Pertussis is on the upswing.   I got the pneumonia shot, so I had a cold that led to a sinus infection and shingles and lasted four months.  If it had simply turned to pneumonia, a Z-pack would have fixed me up in seven days.  But, once again, I digress.

I herein copy an illuminating document that supports vaccinating in clear easy to follow terms.  After you read it, let me know if it has at all altered your opinions, be they whatever. I have made an informed decision to present it in its original format, knowing it will mess with the borders of my exquisitely designed blog.  Scrolling will help you if there is overlap, but I am doing this to help you read it since most of you are older than snot.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish

I found the stonings in Dearborn, Michigan very disturbing. 

 This two minute clip is very moving. I would prefer to see more like it than videos of people being stoned in America. 

http://digg.com/newsbar/topnews/if_this_video_doesn_t_make_your_heart_swell_there_s_a_decent_chance_you_don_t_have_a_heart

What's your take on this?

Big Mouth

I have posted so much inflammatory stuff today. My remarks have already cost me a Drawsome partner.

This is all a stall cuz I have to reformat a doc and I am one-third through and I do not want to do it.  I don't know why cuz when I did the first third, which I've been postponing forever,  I enjoyed it.  But I must be having one of those 'cycles'.  An acquaintance doesn't go to a shrink.  She goes to a psycho-pharmacologist.  I get my mind altering drugs from my GP.  I said "No.  I can't take Advil.  It raises blood pressure."  She says, "Oh, I never knew that."


So she took away my xanax cuz I said I REALLY like it and everyone loves me when I am on it and please, sir, can I have more?  And she gives me klonopin which must be related to Paxil cuz it makes you not give a shit about anything.  I didn't even pay attention to blending the colors for my Impatiens this Spring.  It cannot get much worse than that.  So I am not going through that shrink crap again.  What a bunch of loonies I have met. So, I don't know.  Maybe Lawman will hit Select this week.  Maybe the yews will get trimmed.  You have to do it before July first.


In the meanwhile, I shared this vid on twitter, but if you didn't catch it there, go to YouTube and search "PissedPotter".  It is so purely fucking sensible.  Really.

My husband just asked me if he could download a huge video file to my computer.  I said "Do you have it on a zip drive?"  And he said he did.  So I said, "Can't I just put your zip drive in my machine and watch it tomorrow?"  Of course I had to add, "That will be the closest thing we've had to sex in a long time." Yeah, we're old.

This poor guy.  I love him so much and he is in the cellar.

BRAVE

So glad a curly haired Celtic redhead is the new heroine  since all mine are. Wonderful film by the way. 

This is For the Girl in the Hat

Don't see many crow  jokes.  I thought this was so bright. From a site called "I Fucking Love Science".

Replacement**

** or, "Ditty Wimps Out"

Father's Day

My father is incredibly old. He insists on driving himself and lives alone, despite my remodeling a room for him  and asking him to move here countless times.  "You'd have to get rid of a few kids and animals before I'd think about that."

My mom died six years ago and we all thought, including his doctor, that he would not last long without her.  But he is apparently an expert at transference, even arguing about what hospital I was born in, confusing me with her.

He is a very good person.  He was a cop, for which I paid dearly in my teen years, and a very hard working person.  He frequently had three jobs.  Cops were allowed to moonlight in those days.  I grew up with my share of daddy fantasies, acting some of them out,  making out under the stairs with his partner  at his retirement party, for instance. Daddy would have shot the guy.

If nothing else, he taught us you don't get anything without working for it.  He talks about how uninvolved his dad was in his life.  I said, "He must have done something right because he made you what you are and everyone knows you are a fine person."  The world is indeed a better place for him being in it, and the world definitely needs more people like him, to use  some of the  cliches in that regard.

But one  day he was talking about how his dad was never around to play games with them, or take them swimming.  Maybe my dad practiced baseball a little with my older brother but I don't recall that. We all learned to ride our two-wheelers pushing off the fence, not with the dad running behind  holding the fender.  Surely he did not toss the old ball around at all with my second brother, and  he never played games with me until after my mom died.  They played Yahtzee every day.  I would go and visit after she was gone and suggested we take up Yahtzee again.  I kicked his ass the first three games and we never played again.

Anyway, he repeats stories endlessly in his dotage, and we earn our points with God by patiently listening.  So one day when he was talking about his dad, yet again. (My grandpa was a handsome, debonair, wonderful guy to me.  The Minnetonka story is elsewhere in this ongoing chronicle) and my dad said, "My father never even bought me a bicycle."  I said, "But, dad, you never bought me a bicycle either."  (I bought my own bike when I was seven, the story of which probably also lies elsewhere in this chronicle.)  He just stared at me, for once at a loss for words, and, I am certain, for the first time realizing that he had indeed walked in his dad's shoes, at least in some cases.

One thing, a far more precious gift than a bike, is the self-reliance he taught me by not buying me a bicycle.

And, to prove  the thesis, my dad and his pal, Bill, bought a car when he was eleven, fixed it and drove it--to grade school.



















father's Day

Almost

I couldn't stand to be in that room one more minute.  I felt nothing but hate and frustration. Every time he tried to talk to me, I sneered.  He put up with it because he thought he deserved it.  That just pissed me off more  because I was providing him with absolution.  Thank God he fell asleep fast and I left the minute he did.  I don't know what time it was.

We were in New London and there was a place the train went past this rock wall.  I stood in a niche and the trains were so close I could touch them if I wanted.  I remember thinking it was like those statues in church in their niches.  Maybe I was tempted.  I didn't feel suicidal or scared. I didn't feel anything.  After a while I hunkered down and when the sky got light I went back to the room because I knew he'd be gone to the shipyard.  I remember every stitch of clothing I had on, but a few days later, I went looking for the place and couldn't find it.  I didn't know where I was.  In so many ways.

Balance

Yeah, I'm a crab, but:

Neighbor

All In A Day's Work

I want to publish this non-fiction thing because the timing is right, but this other story is scratching at my brain. 7,932 words seems like a good day's work until you consider it is a tenth of what I need and it's the wrong story.  But maybe it is the right story.

Bored

In For It

There is this huge site called Goodreads.  You can promote your work, ask questions, discuss books, review books, answer questions.  It is just huge and early on it was recommended that I utilize it. It is kind of too huge.  You can have problems with it, like someone may look for your book and can't find it.  Early on a guy named Larry asked me to be his friend.  I said something that must have led him to believe  I could think even though I was a female.  His profile pic shows him holding an armful of awards and trophies and he never stops talking about his experience and expertise.  I added him as a friend because he was the first person who asked me.  He complimented me and I was a novice.  I hadn't known about the friendship process. So lately he has been sniping at people and  he said to a person who has a published book, did the book benefit from a professional editing.  He didn't say this book needed a professional edit.  The guy replied he had several beta readers before publishing and Larry went into a spiel quoting  dictionaries and other sources about how beta readers were amateurs and he was talking about professionals.  The guy replied with a source defining a beta reader and Larry shot him down.  They started about legalese and intellectual rights and I interjected a remark saying Larry was beating around the bush arguing about the terminology and not stating whether the book needed an edit.   He jumped all over me and  got all snide and called me an amateur.  Did I ever say I wasn't?  And the "well, then, if you are such an 'expert'" crap.  I fired off how he had gone from being snide to being insulting and how he was always flaunting his professionalism.  I so wanted to tell him to fuck off, but it was not the correct venue.  (Strange guideline I have there, huh?) So now, I am sure, every book I have on Goodreads will receive a scathing insulting zero review.  Sometimes, honestly, and I know my Church teaches the desire or the intent to commit the sin is the same as committing it, but I just really want to shoot him.  I hate him.  I do.  I guess it is nice I have a target.

I love Mises(dot)org.  It is just fun to jump into the debates sometimes and they get all over me.  One guy said he liked it better when Mises was an all boys club.  I admit to them the limits of my knowledge and some come and comment on my blog and it is just a neat site.  He said I am always pushing it on Goodreads.  I think I mentioned it twice as a good place to go to discuss intellectual property rights.  Like maybe especially if your usual genre is romance or science fiction.  I am so steamed.  I keep saying I should learn to keep my mouth shut, but not this time.  Someone needed to call out this needle dick and I am glad it was me.

More Art That I Am Getting Weird For

I had the biggest sales day ever.  I have NO idea how to keep the momentum going.  I thought it odd, that after giving away over 8,000 for free, people came in and paid money for it the next day.  But it is all good.  And a few cross sales which is how the Select thing is supposed to work in theory.  I have to get busy.  Too much going on. This all makes me very nervous.

Now Back to Life

I shall continue with my art experiment. Bore you all to tears.  Go read. Preferably my book.

Monday

I was kind of surprised by this.  Usually day four the numbers go way down.  But I kind of have a clue about why it happened this way this time.  Still, only one cross sale so far. Yet, I am extremely pleased.

The numbers are incredible.

5059 in US
112 in UK
21 in Germany
2 in France

Now if only a FEW of these people actually read it. And if a few of them actually like it.  But stats show something like 80% never even read it.  We will see.

Oh, this was for Sacred Sin. Nauseating to most of you, but at least Fran can print this out and display it at my funeral.

Today

Isn't this nice?  Too bad it only lasts a few days.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005H3EW3Q

First Day

I know it will drop like a stone, but it is fun to see.  #43 in Contemporary Fiction. (Amazon's free promotion)

Sacred Sin

Free download of my first book, Sacred Sin, from Amazon, for Kindle and Kindle apps,  from June 01, through June 5, 2012.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005H3EW3Q

Have a look, won't you?

Barnes and Noble said, "crazy good read".

Katherine Owen said, ". . .a great read. Evocative, intimate and sexy".

Stephanie James said it was the worst book she ever read.

Snarky Trolls

Or trolling snarks.  I don't get it.  There is one area where I kind of got into conversation with a person who self-pubs and frequents a lot of the sites I visit, and it kind of deteriorated, so I just steer clear of it now.  But some comment was up on Goodreads which is a huge, rambling, sometimes confusing, site that is supposed to be a good hangout for readers and would be authors. (For instance, in one place it says my book is down for rewrite and in another place it is up with the new cover.) Anyway, of course, after I made my TINY remark some asshole had to come back with gee, congratulations, you must be so popular to look at stuff that way.  I so bad wanted to reply right there on the site with "Fuck you asshole.  Why does this site attract so many assholes?"  Except that wouldn't be speaking well for my very own presence would it?  The thing is, the blog moderator seems like a nice guy, although if I was a professional diagnostician, which I am not,  I would say, definitely Asperger's.  Gives out way too much personal, way too personal information, and has a couple of other strange characteristics  that leave me wondering.  Not my place to judge.  But this, FineWhine, is my place to vent, and who ever you are, you know damn well what I am talking about.

I will practice self control and try even harder to stay away.  But, even at my age, (considerable) it never ceases to amaze me that there are so many people out there lurking, waiting for the chance to pounce.  Always trying to cut someone off at the ankles.  Like they don't have enough of their own ground to stand firm on?  I'm crowding their fucking stage?   Always snarky, cloaked, unnecessary.  And they cannot go to sleep at night  unless they've lobbed a particular amount of their shit at people.  I would say it is tiny dick syndrome, except sometimes it is a female.  Although, come to think of it, it usually is a guy.

What is wrong with me that I cannot learn that lesson?  Good thing God didn't make me a hanging judge.

Waiting for the Spark

Lately it seems I am selecting things that look nice on my blog.

Hold on. . .

If a truth creeps up on you, I guess it's not exactly what you would call a revelation.  But there is absolutely a moment of realization.

I grew up in an Irish Catholic neighborhood.  My mom had two kids and a caboose. ( I once over heard a neighbor sitting in the kitchen talking to my mom and this women had seven kids and she asked my mom what she did that she only had three.  Honest to God.  In one lifetime.)  The caboose knows he was a caboose and knows that happens in Irish Catholic families and, in truth, he has not dealt with it very well.  But none of my mom's kids were ever taught anything resembling a coping skill.  My mom always had a job.  She thought that made her independent, but since she died my dad has made remarks about how that made her feel she was contributing but in fact it was a pittance and an inconvenience.  Sometimes my dad worked three jobs and my older brother and I always had a job.  I mean always. I bought my own bicycle when I was seven and from the time I was thirteen, I bought every thread I wore.  Once my mom saw this coat that she thought was great and I was luke warm about it.  She said, "Well, I'll buy it for you since you buy everything else."  I was thirteen and a freshman in high school.

Anyway, what I started out to say was, despite her holding jobs to make her feel independent, my mom was totally dependent on my dad, as was he on her, though not financially.  I grew up thinking that the husband-wife thing was a dynamic unto itself and that's the way it was.  And that belief, which no one ever bothered to tell me was misbegotten, caused me years and years of sadness.  Then I realized my marriage was not like my parents, and the things that you grow up and have engrained in you culturally and socially, do not apply in every individual case.  And I realized, not all of a sudden, but I came to know that I am in this boat all by myself and it has been very freeing.  There is this guy that lives in my house, and we get along now.  I can make demands of him, but I have no expectations of those demands being fulfilled and I have done stuff I never thought I could do, all by myself, and my boat isn't leaking and the sea is calm.  There is still sadness and difficulty in my life, but it is all mine to deal with as I choose.  I'm fine.

Bird cages

I really just wanted to see how this looked on my site.  Pretty nice, I'll say.

Sorry about the border drift. For the sake of art. It will correct next blog which may be any minute now.

WORK

I decided to get out my notes on a non-fiction book I had an idea for some years back.  Not only was I able to locate the notes, but I wrote a 2,000 word fore warning, and I kept looking up more and more stuff. It was fascinating.  This is going to be what I always called schlock psychology, but actually, maybe schlock sociology.  Actually, maybe?  And you are letting me write?

 I shouldn't start so late in the day, but a.m. has been gruesome for me the last month or so.  This was so much fun.  I am most content with the wheels spinning in my head.  Just that little worry when they spin too much. . .

When I'm not writing, I am moping. I don't care if I got the upstairs and the hallways vacuumed, and two flats planted, etc., etc., it feels like moping to me.

I have to keep that thought about how much time I have wasted out of my head and just enjoy this time.

The june bugs are starting to hit the windows, also.  Just as an aside.

Henry is on amytriptelene.  So funny.  I used to take it and he is a Cocker Spaniel.

Doldrums

I think doldrums is more a weathery type feeling, but I am in some weird place.  Like there is no wind filling the sail, but I just don't feel like turning the motor on.  I'll wait until I have to do something.

I am so interested in that new Disney movie "Brave".  The little brothers with the red curls? I can't wait to see it.  So I  put a blurb on twitter and they put it in some Disney News  Letter which was fun.  But since twitter is limited to 140 characters, I don't think it will be on the list  for  the Pulitzer nominations.

And I can think of nothing to blog about, but have had a couple of curious spikes.  I wish I knew what made them so I could duplicate it.  And I am thinking the heck with this writing, but I got two nice royalty payments last week and saw today both accounts already have a decent amount in them, so it is just like a thin little income stream that I am getting kind of used to. It even grows infinitesimally each time.


This all started with my non-fiction work that I am not going to talk about since I notice lots of things I say show up in a thinly disguised version on other sites.  So I am working on that and it  should be a whole new experience. I have lots of notes and outlines and ideas, and have actually opened a doc, so when the muse hits me, I am ready.

Today's CTA:  whatcha workin' on, huh?

YOUR TRUTH

I wish I had the right to tell people that they are wrong.

 I believe some people have the kind of mind that has a built in bull shit detector.  I believe those people are sometimes branded as being mentally "different".  Polite society now usually calls these cases "conditions" rather than illnesses.  The thing  is I have a lot of beliefs.  Some contradictory probably, but C. S. Lewis said, "You do not have a soul.  You are a soul. You have a body."  And, unfortunately, the brain comes with the body.  So it fucks up what is in your soul.  When you are aware of this you are mentally ill.

I know.  My soul has a lot of mileage on it.  And there is lots of stuff this brain just can't process.  But lots of things I come to grips with and ultimately enunciate, have been said and heard before--perhaps when this soul was in a different body, or perhaps by myself. And I am more than frequently branded a nutcase as were, perhaps, previous users of this soul.  One thing I know, and God put it in this soul when he created it, not when he put it in this body, and that is that everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but you have to indulge them and realize that is their truth whether you agree or not.  I also know that your brain can cause you to have a different take on what you once thought was your truth.

Some people, often with pretty wacky ideas of their own, come right out and say "You are wrong."  How can you know that?  Did you study for that and do you have a certificate?  Who grants those certificates?  Can I apply for one?  Could I pretend to be God if I had one?

When you say someone is wrong, you are being rude at the very least.  Truth is not a solid object, spherical and the size of a dime. It is mutable (I believe). The truth that whole villages can be wiped out by cholera is no longer true.  Oh, wait.  That's not a truth.  That's a FACT.  Don't get that shit mixed up. It pisses people off.

People who know truths, and, probably, no one can know them all,what ever they are, how many ever there may be, have a tendency to cloak the idea that they believe this "thing" in poetic language.  It takes the edge off their fear of being branded "wrong".  It's maybe not poetry; it's maybe waffling.  But Poetry sounds better, goes over easier, and people can poke around in the language and find their own truths. Symbolism is open to interpretation, so you can say what you believe and maybe not get called out for it.  I am wandering off the track here.  I should have stopped at pissing people off.  I could go on longer with this subject, but you are not listening anymore.

Today's CTA:  define truth

Gentle Reminder

I seem to have found my true calling in life.  I seem to be an expert in pissing people off.  Discuss this amongst yourselves.


 THE MAZE is free until 5/31/12.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/158247

If you feel a sense of loyalty or some sort of ill-defined fear, it is $2.99 at Amazon. Not  a deal-breaker.


http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0061SB3TC

I got one nice four star review so far.  She said it had the makings of a great book.  I refuse to dwell on what she meant by that.  She said she felt a little confused about who some of the characters were and where they came from, and I felt bad about that because it was a sequel.  I thought maybe I just ran everyone into the next book.  But then I remembered, I kind of covered that in the first few chapters.  The first specifically; and I also remember that people kind of don't pay close attention til they are immersed.  So immerse yourself in chapter one. It rocks anyway.

pray with me

Change in Perspective

NOT A COYOTE

I live in far Northern Illinois.  I think someone said my town is four miles from the cheese wall.  I have lived in this house a little more than twelve years.  We live on the edge of a dedicated bird sanctuary that is owned by the State and our Village.  (Not gospel, just my interpretation of what someone said.)  It has a lake at either end and a huge  multi hundred acre forest preserve at the North end.  We have coyotes that live in the field behind us.  We have blue heron, lots of hawks, last year a few sightings of Sandhill Cranes, and several reports of cougar which no one believed until he was shot dead on the North side within the actual Chicago city limits.  DNA tests proved he was the same one that was traveling through here.  His hair and blood were found in a barn just North of my village.  I have seen wolves twice.  Different ones.  Alone.  Different colors.  I see coyote all year long, every year.  I know what a coyote looks like.  Each time I saw the wolf, he stood and looked at me, (us, I was with someone else both times.)  These occasions were about six years apart, so it is obvious this is not part of a pack.  A wolf was caught on a trail camera in Union Illinois, West of me, and a wolf was hit by a car and killed just west of Antioch (next town over) on the Illinois side of the border.  He was an Eastern Grey Timber Wolf.  They are not Grey.  He was wild, not an escaped pet which was determined by the contents of his stomach and the condition of his coat.  Anyway that's my story and I'm sticking to it.  Lots of people look at me like, okay, lady with rocks in your head.

I was just watching a vid on my iPhone which was of wolves chasing an elk pack out West.  It was thirty nine minutes long and I was watching, trying to watch, trying to listen to David Letterman at the same time, so I wasn't paying close attention, but when the wolf was joined by two pack mates and drew closer to the elk, I used to think, oh poor elk.  Run, run faster, baby.  But this time I was thinking yeah, you almost got him, there you guys got him. Dinner!  Yay.  If it is a little baby zebra or springbok in Africa being chased by a lion or a leopard or something, I still think, run, baby, run.  But now I am rooting for the wolves.  And when the ranchers in Wyoming ask that they be allowed to shoot a few more cuz they are taking too big a bite out of the live stock, I think, Oh, shucks. Not, certainly, leave the poor wolves alone.  But, shucks, here we go again.  Just when they are getting a nice foot hold.

Let me be the first to tell you, if I see a griz out in my meadow, I will probably place a few calls.  But I just think it is strange that I have had this sea change of loyalties or maybe just attitude  in my dotage.  Although maybe that is why.  I am getting dotty.

Today's CTA:  who are you rooting for?  Wolf or Elk?

Another Fabulous Freebie

I cannot say enough good things about Smashwords.  My book, THE MAZE,  is already in the Premium catalog.  The cover wouldn't take and I didn't like it anyway, so I did one in Powerpoint in about ten minutes and, though it is not my favorite, it is in keeping with several of the book's themes and doesn't look bad.  I wanted that little red head on there from the get go, but couldn't get her to fit.  She is a joyous me, someone I don't see too often.

A person was sorry they couldn't download cuz they had a Nook.  Anymore was in Select and will be for a few more weeks, so that is Amazon exclusive, a mixed bag, but  it will go on Smashwords too pretty soon.

Smashwords puts you in the Apple, Nook, Kobo, and all other devices format so you can even download to some off brand e reader you bought on vacation in Thailand.  I have always had my best sales from Barnes and Noble, so I hope this works out.  Hundreds have already been downloaded for free, and this book, which I love so much, I am doing the sequel, is in the cellar at Amazon.  So I hope y'all enjoy it.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/158247

THE MAZE

The Maze will be free the rest of May on Smashwords.  They are pouting about a few things, so it's not in premium, but you can use most readers.  I'll have to find the link tomorrow, I am so tired,but since you are champing at the bit, do a name search.  It walks a narrow line. It is the least read so far, but that is inexplicable since it's so much fun. 

Political joke.

I.m posting this cuz I can't figure out how else to tweet it.

AFTER THE FIZZLE OF YESTERDAY’S MAY DAY DEMONSTRATIONS, this passage from Jonah Goldberg’s new book is fitting:

Ronald Reagan . . . was confronted by a bunch of screaming hippies back in his days as governor of California. They swarmed his car yelling at him for cutting education funding or some such. One fellow — who I like to imagine looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo — held up a sign to Reagan’s car window saying “We are the future!”
Reagan quickly grabbed a pen from his suit pocket and wrote something down on piece of paper and thrust it to his side of the window so the kid could read it. It said: “I’m selling my bonds!”

I Call Bull Shit

Making over a turn of phrase that, when analysed, is in fact  contradiction at best and a mixed metaphor at the least and saying it is such good poetic language.  Fuck that.  I may write like a third grader, but I am not pretentious about it at all.  And a couple of grown ups have said I don't write like a third grader.  I think this bull shit phrase turning is not the same as telling a story.  And that is what I do.  I tell stories about people.  Things happen, but I don't tell stories about things that happen.  I tell stories about the people the things happen to.  Because that is the way life  struck me.  I am a person that things happened to,and they keep on happening. Like rain from hell.   And that is what I am made of, the way I handled the things that happened and what those things did to me.  The person. If you never before in your life saw me, and you struck up a conversation with me, you would take me at face value.  You wouldn't know how I retaliate, how I hurt, how I inflict pain, how I have handled pain.  So if I told you the things that happened to me, you would have to relate that to the person you are talking to.  And I would have to tell you a story. And  I would fucking weep.

FREEBIE

ANYMORE is free on May first and second.

I may have mentioned the wrong book in a few  places and I apologize, but this is the deal.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007O47VIE

You will find it somewhat different and smaller than my previous work.  I hope you will participate and enjoy.

Excerpt from Sacred Sin

Of course, it was only a matter of days until Barney knew she was back in town.  One morning, Sarah brought the mail in, including this week’s “US” magazine.  On the cover were two side by side photos, one of Daniel getting off the plane in England and one of Jenny and the kids, getting off the plane at O’Hare.  The caption read, “Trouble in Paradise?” and, within, a long article with photos of Daniel with his split lip and Jenny crying.  Barney was on his way out the door to go to work and took a minute to glance at it.  “I’ll drive by and see if she’s okay.”  And he dashed out the door.

The kids were on the lawn and Jenny was sitting in the side yard writing on her computer.  When the huge red truck pulled up and the huge guy got out, she hit ‘save’ and started across the lawn.  As he ran toward her he thought, “If the house was on fire, she would remember to hit ‘save.’”

The kids were terrified, especially little Maisie who began to cry and run to her mommy just as Jenny literally jumped into Barney’s arms.  “Oh my God.  You look so wonderful.  The glasses.  You’ve put on weight.  You look wonderful.  Oh my God.  I’m so glad to see you!”

“Jenny.  What did you do to your hair?  Are you alright?  You weigh nothing.  What’s going on with you?”

“Just a sec,” she said, as she stepped away to pick up sobbing little Maisie.  She turned away from Barney and put her cheek against the baby’s and whispered to her, Maisie’s tears wetting Jenny’s face and their copper curls comingling.  The baby’s crying ceased the moment she felt the safety of her mother’s embrace.  The sight of them--each end of the spectrum of all that was true in his life,  Maisie, the perfect replica of the nemesis of the kindergarten Barney, and Jenny, the only image he carried in his soul--stabbed into him, love spiraling into itself, redoubling and ripping a hole in his chest where his heart had been.

He felt full of some ancient knowledge, but as though his life was renewed.  “Not my kid.  Not my kid. . .” his brain kept trying to remind him.  But he knew that this icon before him was his only truth.  He knew he was seeing Jenny’s reality, if only for a second, her truest person, and he knew he would never be anything more to her than her soldier, her bastion, her anchor.  But he realized that was all he was meant to be and she needed that.  And her need for him, born when she took her first steps and reached for his hand, drawing her to him in the troubled nights of her adolescence, and now her child reflecting the intensity of her love, brought him a sense of purpose he had never known.  He knew that he was the part of her that finally let her be unafraid to give her love.  And he knew he would be rooted to this spot in time, in his life, in his soul, forever.  He chuckled slightly, “And was this one cloned in a Petri dish?”

(This is one of my favorite parts.  It ties all my books together. Sacred Sin will be free to download on May first and May second, 2012.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005H3EW3Q

Seriously

I keep saying Barnes and Noble bring me the most sales, but I promise not to let it go to my head.

Argument

Every now and then I will jump into a comment thread on a blog that has gone on so long and gotten so far off track it is ridiculous.  I have prided myself on being able to bring some of these long-winded discussions to a crashing halt.  Now, it's like why bother.  The truth is the people just want to see the ink.  I have admitted that I have been guilty of it.  I call it being a blog whore--posting just cuz you know that site will bring you hits.  I do it when I notice a dip in my stats.  It always seems to reverse the trend, but I cannot definitively say it is a cause and effect relationship.  I have blog spikes that are inexplicable and often leave me wondering what someone must have said about me somewhere that I know nothing about.

I have also commented on the fact  that people will read something in my blog and then go and blog about it like I am not going to notice where they got  the idea.  This, I know, at least on more than just a few occasions, is a fact--or ESP.  I don't even care about that.  It's kind of flattering.  But it would be nice if they just kind of in a generalized way mentioned that someone gave them this thought and they ran with it, even if they don't get specific.

The latest is the prevalence of certain terms.  Mises just finished a month long multi pager in which the main figures in the argument went off track with defining and accusing each other of the ad hominem attack.  Now I just got through another windy one where, not only did they have to pause in their tracks to make a snarky remark about my "one-liners", (A market is a market, asshole.  I don't care what you peddle.) they go completely down the side road about the fucking ad hominem attacks.  It is like the word of the week .  It is usually accompanied somewhere in the discourse with several mentions of cognitive dissonance.  The last time I saw 'cognitive dissonance' in a blog, I went in and said, "I call bullshit.  This is cognitive dissonance, not what you are referring to."  Boom.  End of thread.

Well, what should I expect?  I'm the one that keeps saying there are only 26 letters.  I always think of the millionth monkey in that room with the pianos, pounding out Beethoven. Or is it typewriters and Shakespeare?

It's been said.

Today's CTA:  What hasn't been said?

Polite Conversation

Someone actually came up to me at a family gathering recently, a cousin of a cousin that I hadn't seen in years.  She is almost exactly the same age as I am and she has a child younger than some of my grandchildren.  (Which is hard for me to imagine for many, many reasons.)  When we were all younger and used to have family parties for this or that reason, we sort of hung out cuz of our similarities in age and interests, plus I kind of liked  her older brother.  She actually asked me what happened to me, that I used to be kind of always up for a good time.


 Today's CTA:  Should I have told her?

Stop It

So now Google is farting around with my blog and facebook has that new timeline thing and it absolutely confounds me how some organization can send you an email to come and buy stuff on their website and you have to sign into the website and then they tell you that email is already taken, yeah, goofnuts, it's mine, and then they will send you an email so you can get a new password and screen name.  How the fuck did they send you the  fucking email in the first f-ing place.  For f's sake.  I'm just about through I guess.  I cannot even open the lid on the shampoo bottle anymore and I am going to need a wheel barrow if I am assigned any more pills.  I would love to sit and mess with the 26 letters, but if the chair is turned the wrong way, I can't sit down and I have to walk around the chair and turn it the other way, and by then who feels like writing some cheerful little ditty.  Not me.

Scratch That

Previous post = over medicated? Can't stop. Won't. Needed a bit of an ass-kicking, but I am fine.

Mixed feelings

This is the plan. I am going to rotate the four books through Select and rewrite each one, heavily editing the sex out of the first, at several people's suggestions, and doing new covers at least for the third. I feel like I am done being a writer. I wanted to do the four and they are done. And they pretty much are tanking. I average a sale a day. I realize that is sixty times better than no sales for months at a time, but the word of mouth thing is not working for me. I blame my personality and lifestyle for that.

But I'd like to say a few things about the "business" end of this business. I get lots of email and even phone calls that they want to tell me about this publishing deal and that. Okay. Leave me alone. I'm published. Unless you have some promo ideas, I have nothing to say to you and I don't want to listen to you. Word of mouth is the ONLY thing missing from my equation and you cannot sell me a program for that. Don't ask me to send you copies of my work. It is all out there in many different forms or places. If you can't do anything else, you can name search for me. As far as I know there is one other Virginia Llorca and she is a 23 year old girl in North Carolina.

Thanks to everyone who read my stories and double triple thanks to those who said nice things about them, and think about the Karma, especially you family members who pretend it doesn't exist or it's a whim. Read any Lora Leigh and then get back to me about MY work.

The only thing that is bothering me now is that I am toying with ideas. It is just because I am bored and am so very unused to dealing with a sense of relief. I'm trying to talk myself out of it.

Today's CTA: Do you get angry with yourself when you break promises to yourself or do you just shake it off? What do you learn from the experience? Share.